


The Night Before

by reason_says



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-14
Updated: 2008-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reason_says/pseuds/reason_says
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you talk?" *smirk* "A little."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the actors who played them, and I'm not making any money from this.
> 
> Written for [](http://violin_road.livejournal.com/profile)[**violin_road**](http://violin_road.livejournal.com/)'s birthday!

**The Night Before**  
Not exactly smooth, this guy, but he talks a good game. He bobs his head to the music, like he's losing himself in the beat, but he never loses track of what he's saying. That's good – means he's telling the truth. Liars, they pay way too much attention to their story, don't pay attention to anything else, or they keep stopping and have to start over from the beginning. This guy, he lets himself get distracted without stopping, shows he knows what he's saying and doesn't need to think about it. This guy can be trusted.

Larry leans in almost without meaning to, studying the kid. He must be good, or Joe wouldn't be considering him, but Jesus, he looks all of seventeen. His hair's in his eyes, and the jacket makes him look like he's trying too hard to be badass. Still, there's definitely something about him. Something that draws Larry in, makes him think this punk might actually work on the job.

He chuckles low in his throat, and the kid's eyes dart over from where he'd been focusing on Joe. Larry almost chokes on his drink. Yeah, there's something there, all right. Shit.

Freddy is beginning to think he had no idea what he was getting into. He's sure he's blowing the story, he's fidgeting too much with his cigarette, with his jacket, with the drink he wishes he hadn't started drinking, not paying enough attention to the table. He's blowing it, but he comforts himself that even if he's not what they want for the team, they'll just think he's no good as a crook, they won't know he's… that thing he's not even thinking because if he thinks it he'll say it and shit, now comes the part with the sheriffs. That's always been the hard part. There was dialogue in Holdaway's script, no shit actual _dialogue,_ and it'd been a bitch getting it to fit in with a naturalistic monologue.

The guy on the left, the one who's not Joe or Nice Guy, laughs at something he says, and he can't keep his eyes from flickering over, just for a beat, but then they don't move away. He's still talking, but now he's talking directly to this guy, telling him about the dog barking and the sheriff making it shut up, not even thinking about Joe. He'd been trying to keep up a decent range of eye contact, not too long on any one person so it doesn't look like he's working them, but the way this guy's looking at him there's no way Freddy's looking at anything else any time soon.

It's not even that he looks like he's trying to pick him up – Freddy's seen plenty of those looks, even in the damn force where no one talks about it, he knows a fucking come-hither look when he sees one, and this ain't it – it just looks like he's _watching_ him, more carefully than Joe and Nice Guy are bothering with. They're all studying him, sure, see if he's the guy they want, but this guy looks like he already knows Freddy's the guy he wants. And yeah, Freddy knows how that sounds, but it's not like that. You'd have to see the look to understand. It's like what Freddy's saying is the only thing this guy wants to hear, but also like he doesn't need to hear anything else to make up his mind.

Freddy's almost surprised when the story ends and Joe breaks into his consciousness. He jerks his eyes away from the guy, looks back at the Cabots, feeling himself smirk without thinking about it. The way they're looking at each other, he can tell. He's in.

Joe gestures magnanimously, which Freddy takes as permission to pull up a chair, so he does so. He carefully keeps from leaning forward until Joe does, not wanting to overstep himself, but when Joe and the guy lock eyes and nod, he can't hold back a grin.

"You're in, kid." Joe sticks out a hand, which Freddy carefully takes before Joe all but crushes his hand in a deathgrip. "I wasn't too sure about you, but Mr. White here," he nods toward the guy, "thinks you're OK, and I'd trust him with anything, so I guess you're OK."

Mr. White grins and nudges Joe. "Keep talkin' like that, he's gonna find out I'm the real brains of the operation."

"Yeah, you wish, Junior." Joe rolls his eyes, which seems to be a full-body operation. He quakes in his seat, and Freddy can't help but be reminded of certain comic book characters. "Now, you've probably noticed I referred to my friend here as Mr. White. That's obviously a code name. Like I said when I called, we don't want anyone on the team knowing anything about anyone else, makes it too easy to squeal if God forbid things should go wrong. So, with the exception of Nice Guy Eddie and myself, you'll all have other names. Yours is Mr. Orange."

Freddy nods, making a note to tell Holdaway. This'll make things harder, but not impossible. Joe stands up, and Nice Guy quickly follows suit. "Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat, but me and Eddie have some legit" – Nice Guy laughs – "business in the morning, can't be staying out too late. Keep an eye on your phone, we'll let you know when we need you."

They leave, Nice Guy looking over his shoulder to see if Mr. White will follow and turning back when he doesn't. White, for his part, raises an eyebrow at Freddy.

"Don't really feel like going home yet, you?"

No, Freddy does not. He's still jacked from his success, from having fooled one of the hardest-to-fool bosses in the business, from having gotten his chance to take him down. He shakes his head and gestures questioningly at the bar, heading over as soon as White nods and begins to stand.

Larry knows it's a bad idea. Not only is this kid clearly way too young, there's also the matter of what it'd do to the job if things went bad. Still, what's the harm in a drink? If nothing else, maybe he can find out just how old this Orange is, see if he really does need to back the hell off. It's not unheard of for crooks to make themselves look younger than they are, make it easier for cops to trust them, but it's also not unheard of for guys in their early twenties to be decent crooks. Teens is pushing it, but damn if this kid don't look the part.

Orange grins at him as Larry reaches the bar, raising the glass that's just been given to him. As he takes a drink he raises an eyebrow, and Larry's not sure he _does_ want to know how old he is. At this point, he's not sure it'd actually make a difference, and he doesn't want to know that about himself. He shakes his head and signals the bartender. Gin on the rocks is the cure for most ills, he's found, and right now he could use a cure.

"So." Christ, is Orange _smirking?_ "What do you do for fun?"

Freddy can't believe he actually asked that, but it's too late to replace it with something less cheesy, so he lets it go. Besides, he's curious. He has to figure out as much about White and the other guys on the job as possible, obviously, but there's something about this guy that makes him want to find out for himself, rather than Holdaway. He mentally smacks himself for being so fucking unprofessional, before realising White's already talking.

"--baseball at all?"

Freddy wrinkles his nose. "Enh, a little. Dated a girl once who fucking loved it, but I never really got into it. Why?"

"Oh man, you're really missing out. The Brewers? Milwaukee Brewers? Fuck, last night was the best game in a long fucking time. Made a killing off it, too, no one thought they could do it, but I had faith. Playing against the damn White Sox, second game in a row, they lost two days ago, you know? First game in, got to the fucking twelfth inning and lost five to four. So last night, they--"

Freddy tunes out. The basic gist seems to be that the Brewers got back at the White Sox by winning, which made White a lot of money. He still doesn't understand caring about baseball. Football, now, at least there the guys tackle each other a lot, there's some physical reason to watch the games. Baseball, all there is is scores, and they don't even get that high. No point.

He keeps nodding, of course. He's already learning things about this mysterious Mr. White. For example, when he talks about something he really loves, his eyes light up and he drums his fingers on the bar. He gestures with his drink, and hey, Freddy's learning things about himself, too, because as White swirls his glass, the gin splashing up the sides and the ice clinking at the bottom, Freddy can't stop thinking about what it would be like to lick the alcohol from his mouth. And that's a problem right there.

Freddy signals for another drink, never taking his eyes off White's mouth, and realises that no matter how deep he'd thought he was in, he's falling deeper still. Not that he didn't already know he's like this, but _fuck_ if this isn't the worst possible timing. He fiddles absently with the ring he'd almost forgotten he was wearing, and almost smacks himself when he sees White's eyes focus in.

Larry stops talking. He's pretty sure the kid wasn't paying attention in the first place, but he'd let himself ramble, enjoying the way the kid was watching him. Then a clink against the glass, an awkward glint, and he wants to hit himself for not noticing before that Orange is married. Well, fuck.

On the other hand, that makes that easier, at least. No worries about him being too young, if he's unavailable to start with. Normally he wouldn't give a fuck, but for some reason he likes this kid, and he doesn't want to fuck up his marriage for something that'll end when the job does if it even goes beyond one night. Not that it'll get that far, now.

He carefully sets his glass on the bar, hoping Orange hasn't noticed the sudden awkward silence. "So what about you? What do you do for fun, when you're not listening to old men rambling about baseball?"

Orange grins. "I don't know, you'd be surprised how much of my time that takes up. Senior citizens stopping me on the street to talk about the Angels, eats up a good chunk of my day."

Larry laughs, despite himself. "Yeah? Your wife mind you spending all your time talking to the elderly?"

Orange tightens his mouth, seems to have been expecting this. "I'm actually not married."

What? Not that Larry's not relieved, but… "What?"

"Yeah, I know, it's just a precaution." Orange raises his left hand and wiggles his ring finger. "I get way too many offers at places like this. Not like I'm not interested, you know? But sometimes too much is too much, and the ring cuts down on almost all of them."

"Almost?"

"Well, there's always the really persistent ones who convince themselves that they can lure me away from my settled life or whatever, but they only work up the courage near closing time, so it's not hard to avoid them."

Larry laughs. "Y'know, kid, you're all right."

Orange shakes his head in disgust. "Will you fucking stop calling me 'kid'? Christ, I'm twenty-eight."

 _Oh thank fuck._ Larry feels something in him give at that, the last bit of resistance gone. Still way too young for him, but not nearly young enough for the cops to take an interest. That's never been his sole criterion before, and he still doesn't like that it is now, but it's something. He chokes out something to the effect of "Whatever, compared to the rest of us that's still a kid," but he doesn't mean it, and he's sure the things he's thinking are written on his face.

Freddy's not sure he should like the look White is giving him. If earlier wasn't a come-hither look, this sure as hell is, and he's not even sure White knows it. He seems the type to be in denial, but what does Freddy know? He knows he seems like he's in denial most of the time, because he looks about ten years younger than he is. Which is useful when he wants to look innocent for undercover work, but he hardly ever wants to look innocent for undercover work, he wants to look like a badass, and he knows he tends to come off as trying too hard. Hell, he's almost certain Joe wouldn't have taken a chance on him if White hadn't silently spoken for him. Hey, about that…

"So you and Joe are pretty close, huh?" At White's darting look, he raises his hands. "Not trying to pry or anything, you know? Just, he doesn't know me, he probably wouldn't have wanted me anywhere the fuck near this operation if you hadn't nodded at him, I know that, I'm grateful and all, I just want to know, you know, why?"

White looks at him very seriously. "You really wanna know?" He sets down his drink and leans forward, and _At last,_ Freddy thinks, _we're getting somewhere,_ but White just smirks. "I don't know. That's the truth. Just somethin' about you, you seemed like the right man for the job. You know, you're obviously good at what you do, even if you _are_ a fucking kid. You'll do good. But don't ever tell Joe I said that, OK? He's the only one allowed to use his instincts for shit like this."

Freddy can't help but think Joe's right, if this is what White's instincts are always like, because they're for shit. Doesn't say that, though, just responds with a smirk of his own and carefully, making sure White can see it, slides off the fake wedding band.

"What, now you _want_ people making offers?" There's the tiniest of tremors in White's voice. Victory.

There's no way this isn't gonna sound cheesy, but this guy's clearly never gonna make a move, so Freddy just goes with it. "Well, not everyone. Just some people who might have got the wrong idea earlier."

White sighs. "Kid, you're gonna have to be more direct than that. You know what you're saying, and I'm pretty sure I know what you're saying, but I also know I'm not making a move unless you actually tell me you want me to. I don't fucking do this, OK? You're twenty years younger than me and we're gonna be working together, and you really need to make sure you know what the fuck you're doing."

Well. That was more than Freddy had been expecting. Fair enough, then. "All right. What I'm saying is, I really think we should go to someone's apartment and fuck each other's brains out. You OK with that?"

Larry can't help it: he laughs. "You got balls, kid, I'll tell you that." He points. "And I know where you're gonna go with that one, so don't bother." He shakes his head, still chuckling. "You wanna know what I think?" He barely waits for Freddy to raise an eyebrow before continuing. "I think I was right about you. You'll be good on this job. You have good ideas."

He stands up, and is alarmed to find himself needing to hold on to the bar. "I also think we should probably get a cab, 'cause I don't know about you but I'm definitely not good to be driving."

Freddy raises his eyebrows. "That's pretty responsible, coming from a crook. 'Sides, I though Joe and Nice Guy drive you here."

"Yeah, they did. I was gonna get a cab home no matter what, and now, imagine that, you can help me split the fare. We should probably go to your place, mine's kind of… we should go to your place."

Who could argue with that reasoning? They pay for their drinks and leave, very nearly succeeding at not touching each other on the way out. The taxi ride isn't the easiest thing to endure, either. Freddy doesn't exactly live near the bar, and though he and White made certain to sit far enough away from each other for the driver not to get ideas, that doesn't stop them from glancing at each other more than they should. Christ, Freddy can't believe this. He's acting like a fucking school kid with a crush. His only consolation, really, is that White's just as bad, and has less excuse.

When they finally get to Freddy's apartment building, the cab driver leers at them before driving off. Freddy really wishes he hadn't tipped the bastard. That train of thought quickly disappears, however, because as soon as they're through the door he's all but slammed up against the wall.

"You changed your mind, you better say something now," White growls, and when Freddy doesn't say anything he kisses him, _finally,_ and Freddy couldn't say anything if he wanted to.

Freddy knows he shouldn't be doing this. He _knows._ He knows he's being unprofessional, he knows he's gonna have to cut a hell of a lot out of his report the next time he sees Holdaway, but all he can think right now is that he's pretty sure he's never wanted anyone as much as he wants this guy without a name.

Well, no. He also thinks they should probably get upstairs at some point. Not for nothing, but the other people in the building might not be too OK with walking in to find two guys fucking in the lobby. Course, at that point White does something very interesting with his tongue, and Freddy stops thinking.

Larry really isn't sure what he's doing here. All he knows is they better get to Orange's apartment soon, because like hell he's gonna get off in a goddamn lobby. He doesn't have many standards, but the ones he does have mostly deal with not fucking against walls when beds are available. Not to mention, that sort of thing's harder with a guy, and yeah, he's wincing at the pun too, trust him, but it's true. He pulls back, grinning when Orange tries to follow him.

"You do live here, right? You have a room?" Orange nods. "Well then what the fuck are we out here for? Lead the way, kid."

Orange nods again, blinking a few times as if to clear his head. He sets off for the stairs, looking back to see if Larry's following, which of course he is. Like he could leave at this point? Kid needs a confidence boost, seriously. And why the fuck does he live on the third floor? He must not come home drunk too much, or he'd have moved downstairs a long time ago.

 _Finally,_ they're at the door. Orange stops, uncertain, and fumbles through his pockets. Larry shakes his head. "I know you have your keys, kid, you let us in downstairs."

Orange rolls his eyes. "Why does it matter so much, anyway?" He's dangerously close, now, backing Larry against the opposite wall.

"Because beds exist for a reason, that's why. Hallways aren't the most comfortable things in the world, I don't know if you've noticed." He pushes Orange away, just a few inches but it's enough.

The kid shakes his head, pulls out his keys, and sighs as he turns to the door. "You're no fun, you know that?" He squeaks as Larry presses up against him, and no way is Larry _ever_ letting him live that down.

"I will show you exactly how much fun I am as soon as you _open the fucking door,_ " Larry growls in his ear, grinning as the kid's hands fumble on the doorknob. Soon he has it open and Larry all but pushes him inside, slamming the door behind him.

Freddy had done his best to run through a mental inventory of his apartment, see if there was anything White really, _really_ shouldn't see, but now that they're inside he remembers that they're not really looking around that much. In fact, he's not looking at anything but himself, because White has pushed him up against the mirror and is reaching around to unzip his jeans, not even bothering with the button before thrusting a hand inside.

Freddy moans, closing his eyes to keep from seeing the ridiculous faces he's sure he's making as White grabs him through his briefs. He bucks back, can't stop that much, and White chuckles. "You got a bedroom?"

Freddy manages to nod in the general direction of his room, and groans when White immediately steps back. He turns around slowly, breathing heavily and looking at White from beneath lowered eyelids. "You better be planning on following that up pretty soon."

White laughs. "Bedroom ring any bells? Come on." He shakes his head before walking through the door and turning around, eyebrow raised as he waits for Freddy, who is beginning to suspect he's _very_ out of his league.

"You OK there, Orange?"

White's smirking now, and Freddy really wants to wipe that grin off his face. He just got pretty aggressively groped against a mirror, for fuck's sake, he's allowed to be kinda out of it. White seems to think otherwise, though, so Freddy just smirks back as he walks into the bedroom and heads for his nightstand. He pulls out a condom and his lotion and thumps them down on the table before turning back in time to catch White staring at where his ass was a second ago. He's weirdly proud of that.

"So how we doing this? I mean, you ever…" White gestures with his head, and Freddy scoffs.

"Of course!" White keeps looking at him, though, and he rolls his eyes. "Not with a guy, no."

White nods, like that's decided something in his mind, and Freddy interrupts whatever little internal monologue he has going on. "Oh no, I don't think so. You're fucking me, or we're not doing anything."

White frowns. "Look, kid, if this--"

"I fucking told you to stop calling me kid!" Freddy yells, before calming himself down. "Look, there's a first time for everything, you know? Why shouldn't this be one of them? I'm not gonna turn into a girl and start thinkin' we're meant to be or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

Larry laughs. He can't help it, this guy is just so indignant. But if that's what he wants, fine. At least he's stocked up, though Larry has to stifle another laugh as he looks at the half-empty bottle of lotion. This kid's getting busy, all right, but not with anybody else.

Larry starts unbuttoning his shirt as Orange sheds his jacket, but stops when the kid peels off his wifebeater and hey, may he _should_ stop calling him a kid. He shakes his head once, quickly, to clear it, and shucks off his shirt before moving to his pants. Orange is by this time completely naked except for his underwear, but those disappear pretty quickly, and Larry's follow suit.

They stand still for a moment, just looking at each other, before Freddy sits on the edge of the bed, waiting a beat before moving so that he's lying on his back. White shakes his head and bodily rolls him over.

"Trust me, it's easier this way." He grabs the lotion and flicks it open, squirting some onto his hand before pulling Freddy up by the hips. A beat, nothing, and then Freddy feels the slightest pressure at his hole. White circles it a few times before pressing his finger in, and Freddy hisses.

"Look, just relax, OK?" White twists his finger, crooking it a little, and suddenly Freddy can't actually think. _Fuck._ How the hell is he supposed to relax like this?

He's just beginning to get used to the feeling when White adds a second finger. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's definitely awkward, and Freddy jerks away. "Ow! Fuck."

"I told you to relax, didn't I? Shut the fuck up." White pulls his hand away and it's all Freddy can do not to arch toward him. Then he hears the squirt of the Lubriderm bottle and closes his eyes, and soon enough White's back. It hurts less this time, and as White adds another finger Freddy hears himself making the most ridiculous sounds, panting and whining and he doesn't even know what.

Then White pulls away again, and Freddy hears the crinkling of a condom wrapper. He barely even has time to brace himself before blunt pressure has him gasping. He tenses up as White pushes in, but a hand runs down his back and rests at the base of his spine, and he can breathe again. White stops, then, letting Freddy adjust, which he does appreciate even if he feels like a pussy for needing the time.

When he doesn't feel like he's being split in two anymore, he pushes back against White, who chuckles as he takes the hint. From then neither of them pays much attention to anything else, and Freddy hopes to hell Mrs. Babin next door is a heavy sleeper.

After he doesn't even know how long he comes with a grunt, slumping beneath White, who follows him a few strokes later. White pulls out before Freddy even comes down, and the empty feeling that leaves is even weirder than the full feeling that preceded it. He has no idea why the fuck he waited so long to do this. It might have been worth it to fuck around with one of the guys at the station if this is what it always feels like.

He knows, though, that it's not the same. Sure, he's working with this guy just the same as he works with the guys on the force, but this is a temporary thing. Not to mention White's gonna get hauled into that very station on his account, just like the rest of the guys he hasn't met yet, and he can't speak for the others but he's pretty sure this guy, at least, won't be too quick to plea bargain. He's obviously pretty loyal to Joe, and probably won't take kindly to seeing Freddy on the other side of the table.

Hey, Freddy knew this was a bad idea to start with. He's just reminding himself why it's better this way than if he'd just taken up one of the assholes who leer at him in the break room. Better in some really odd ways, maybe, but better.

Just then White lies back down next to him, having disposed of the condom, and grumbles against his neck. "You're thinking too loud, kid. Just fucking sleep, will you?"

Freddy doesn't want to. He wants to think about everything that's going to happen tomorrow, plan his reactions in advance. He'll have to keep wearing the ring, because of course it's not bar protection at all, that was just a convenient excuse for why he was wearing it. Joe and Nice Guy don't know he's not married, and they'd twig on something like that. Holdaway's gonna want to know why it took Freddy so long to get back to him, and on top of that he's gonna have to go back to the bar to pick up his fucking car.

But right now he's tired and fucked out and White is all but spooning him, so he thinks maybe the problems can wait. After all, he's in. What could go wrong?


End file.
